A tribute to the great poems of Edgar Allen Poe.


"From childhood's hour I have not been
as others were, I have not seen as others saw."

- E. A. Poe, "Alone"




Once upon a midday dreary,
while I rested, bedridden, feeling very ill and sickly,
reading a most haunting and chilling volume of beloved lore,
I sought then to escape to the Night's Plutionian shore.
To flee from life's often dull and joyless realities,
and the world's common everyday dreams and fancies.
It would be my lot to wander the rim of the lonely dark lake,
and in the journey through the Valley of the Shadow to Eldorado partake.
I would walk alone the empty silent streets of the city in the sea,
and explore those weird wild lands that could never be.
To listen to the tolling of the bells rolling together in a sort of Runic rhyme
as I stand on the threshold of a kingdom in a realm out of space - out of time.
Let me listen to the music of the angel Israfel as he plays from Heaven's highest throne,
and make a pilgrimage back through Time to view the ancient splendor of antique Rome.
To dwell within a radiant palace, still in a state of glory well befitting,
Not desolate and haunted, not with a ghastly Raven ever flitting, ever sitting...
I have not lived long upon the Earth, yet I often curse the coming of the day
when I must perform again in Man's horrific, madding and doomed play.
Sometimes I wish I could sink into the pages and stay forever on the Plutonian shore
were that tormented and brilliant poet had walked before.
Let me go there, go now, and seek out these things, and the many more.
Grim Raven, please, respite from your refrain of "nevermore" and torment me no more!
And now as I rest, growing drowsy (because of the drugs no doubt) here in my bed,
hot and feverish and wishing (not for the first time) that I were dead,
Knowing the foolishness of my hopeless wishes and imaginings,
as I start to nod, nearly napping, only dimly aware of the goings and happenings,
I suddenly start to smile, as the Raven's shadow envelops me, remembering...
(As the alarms start beeping and the doctors and nurses come running)
That they were wrong, they who declared, they who swore, they who deemed
that my days had become a dream...for ALL that we see or seem
is but a dream within a dream...yes...just a dream within a dream...

Only this...and nothing more...



- (C) by Sloane J. 2009

(please don't confuse the narrator of this poem to
be myself - I am sort of like him, but not all.)


EDGAR ALLEN POE FOREVERMORE!